


the birds won't sing

by crickets



Category: Lost
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crickets/pseuds/crickets





	the birds won't sing

They spend a day in the mountains, the three of them. Claire carries the old Polaroid she found around her neck, her last dozen packets of film in her knapsack, and she snaps photos of random things: a strangely placed pile of rocks, Jack with his fingers laced through Sawyer's, a hand-painted message in the middle of the trail of some long-forgotten beacon.

 _FOOD AND WATER. FORTY MILES DUE NORTH._

The old wooden slat is hanging askew where it's nailed to the tree, the red paint weathered and peeling, a visible reminder of how long it's been since the world fell apart.

Sawyer comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, his chin on her shoulder, watches as the photo's colors become clear.

Jack stands a few feet away, eyes squinting towards the waning light of the sun.

"Do you think anyone's still alive?" Claire asks.

Nobody answers.

They don't have to.

-

The three of them have managed to find shelter, a still-standing farm house with supplies and equipment enough for them to make a home, plant some vegetables, try to make the most of it.

Nights, they spend in each other's beds. Things were different at the start, and Claire teases them both for waiting so long to make it a threesome. And they tease her for how easy it is to get her going.

"It's the end of the world," she tells them. "What else is there to do?"

-

She watches them when they're together, hips roughly finding each other's underneath a starry sky, another night outdoors, her favorite place to sleep. She watches them, Jack's teeth on Sawyer's shoulder, Sawyer's hand searching Jack's skin.

Claire makes a noise and Sawyer starts to laugh. "Little sister's awake," he informs Jack, who pulls her into their embrace.

Second nature.

This is how they are.

This is how they work.

This is how they keep from going crazy.

-

Claire takes snapshots of their bodies. Close-up shots, the bottoms of their bare feet, their erect penises brushing together in a moment of passion.

"Is this really the way we want to be remembered?" Jack asks, afterward, the explicit photos spread out across the bed.

Claire hands one to him across a sleeping, naked Sawyer. It's a sloppy self-portrait, of her and Jack, lips and tongues and love -- that, most of all. "Of course," she tells him. "No one will ever see them anyway."

Jack reaches for her hand.

-

When the sun turns an orange-brown, Claire knows that it is over. Time to move underground, if they can find a way. So they pack their things, as many essentials as they can carry, and set out to an uncertain future.

Claire turns back into the light of the sun, only a sunset by illusion, for a final look at the place they called their home. She stands for several minutes, silhouetted in the dirty, poisoned light, the farm house in the distance, until she hears the mechanical click of her camera, turns to see Sawyer having just snapped her photo.

"To remember," he tells her.

Jack crosses to her side, a hand at her waist, with Sawyer close behind. "We have to keep moving, Claire. There's no time."

And there, standing on that familiar gravel road, Claire begins to cry.

 _-fin_


End file.
